I won’t be on much until after the New Years. I wish you all the best not only for the holidays but throughout the years. Don’t forget the less unfortunate, the homeless, the food bank, the elderly and people who are struggling at this time of year. Happy Holidays and may celebrate wisely.
It is coming to that time again where the wishes are always peace on earth……..I believe it is coming soon. It is Christmas soon and if you leave poetry lines in the comments I will add them here to make a poem of oneness. Be well my friends. I’ll start. The verses don’t have to rhyme nor short.
And there was a star
Brightly shining a far (Sameal)
in my Advent Calendar   Is this a case of political correctness gone too far? But I’m all for inclusiveness, especially at Christmas   David Redpath |
The Jack-o’-lantern gone mad
The fog drifts slowly, creeping mysteriously over hallowed
grounds.
The resting home of the dead has many scary sounds.
There is this Jack-o’-lantern, and the cemetery is his home.
He has been there since 1784 and decides this is where he will
roam.
To those who walk bravely in the cemetery at night,
The Jack’o’Lantern will give you such an eerie fright.
Ghost friends create mischief with him too,
Their hair stands up with just one blood-curdling boo.
A cat with raised hackles sits on a tombstone with a hiss.
And a zombie out from a grave wildly shakes his fist.
Around in the cemetery in circles flies a wicked witch,
Her cackle is loud enough with a high piercing pitch.
A spider web might tangle upon a face or two.
The web is icky and will stick to you like glue.
Jack’ o’ Lantern’s smile was up and not down.
Now, not a pleasant smile but only a frightening frown.
The Jack O’ Lantern throws flames only to have fun.
He laughs in a frenzy, watching people wildly run.
If he saw that their clothes were not singed and blackened
scorched,
He would bite them if they dared come onto the rickety old porch!
If that did not work, he would stand on his feet.
And chase them all screaming, running down the street.
If ever on Halloween, you are in a cemetery and lean over onto
a grave,
Dare to be frightened or dare to be brave.
It is only one night throughout all the years.
You have nothing to be scared of – perhaps only your fears.
Remember the Jack’o’Lantern lives for Halloween.
At night he could be nastier, nastier, and chillingly mean.
At one time, he was a good pumpkin – this is so sad.
One day he snapped his lid and went crazily mad.
A whisper turning phrases
I wrote a poem in the sand, but the sea’s hands brought it back to its home with
no promise of a return. The gatekeeper keeping vigilance asking for the keys of your
poem perhaps today he will let me in. They were wanting a story that were dancing in
their heads with anticipation licking at a story yet unborn. My mind is cluttered as the
leaves of fall chase each other down the street only pausing in the wind’s breath which
would send them on another holiday. Their purpose long dormant not long forgotten and
their ears gone deaf at the edge of a shivering memory. They came up from the earth with
letters in hand, they were letters wanting to make a sentence to form reality that went mad
in a moment of sanity. The secrets spoke to their roots listening to the trees that crawled
through the window to keep those secrets in a box. A Pandora box measuring their hushed
screams in tranquility. They anchored their spot with a splash of ink on a page, and all
was lost when another thought secured itself on an endless missive of grace that was in
code. Between you and me it was an endless quest where thoughts was a rarity into a
book housed in a museum of our own making pillaged by a scrambled author’s signature
and all was well sort of.
Light is not always white
Their faces dandelion yellow bright a newborn. A feast to the delight of sunlight bees
buzzing to remembrance and a slap and shiver from the sea to soothe the soul. The seagulls
carry whispers in their yellow eyes with a wink the moment of creation of earth. A purpose of
a silent ocean in their teacups-stillness with steps flying freely standing still. Drifting in grey
wet clouds another strange memory of the light trying to hide their faces. They carried their
poems on their back lost in letters to be a story yet to be scribbled on the parchment in the back
of the eyes and yet to be opened.
They spoke to the drifters trying to open doors and windows not yet ready to be observed.
A fragile single thought protected against a shadow shattering in pieces of a burdened carried
to a predicted ending. The Autumn winds tumbled humanity in unseasoned cartwheel like the
dancing of leaves being carried to another location to realize the unspoken roots of its
beginning.
Another lonely thought to be stirred creating a savor all its own to be displaced on the
world stage in the darkest of places. When I opened the book of life the sentences fell to the
floor a mix of letters named Nirvana. These seeds remained lost while sprouting in unlikely
places defying logic in their insanity. The book of roots, our bedding with a clue caught in a
spider web on a frosty day with only the secrets hidden by the messenger. Their backs were
not made for their heaviness where their begging is like a dream at the edge of remembering
taken away by a fleeting thought replaced by another within a frame within a disheveled
frame.
They found themselves on a journey whispering their own secrets to add to their own
observation of tranquility in the tempest brewing in their teacups with shaking hands. A
collection of unspoken tea readings with familiarity looking at life’s endings whisked away
to the quiet. There was a question tugging at the soul, but the ego never had the audacity to
questions anything Spiritual on its path of forgetfulness and self destruction. The questions of
life and death came from somewhere.
And then there was no reason
Stenciled shadows
Shadow stencils hang alone on the wallpaper like tarnished diamonds never to twinkle into the abyss of dreams or fading nightmares into coldness.
No bling to wear on the ears or neck a reminder we don’t take the shine with us only the shine of searching for a brighter life when we hear the echo of an imminent cross over.
I run in between spaces drifting with memories that have fallen to the floor of darkness sifting the sand of time with fading recollections through my fingers.
Nothing in the twilight of the sea is mirrored back into the harshness of reality and the babbling brook that rushes itself into an urgency of calmness.
I don’t care for the rush seeping into my veins without a care and there is my fall without the clothing of secrecy stripped in rawness.
A world that produces haze to humanities’ derision with a smashed warning to wash away the shadows standing alone with its abrasion towards spirituality.
We drifted apart, the boat’s life drifting with no compass to guide watching with no secret’s unseen and an unwashed love hanging out to dry.
Come to the midnight flame to the edge of sanity with tears that fill the ocean that leads to a burning puzzle.
My heart is heavy of bursting clouds, and I ask what is love that burns on the tablets of evolutionary infinity searching from the fog of delusions.
I carry on in my broken and shattered life where I am on a merry go round waiting for my turn to ascend blinded by false messages.
Only to rise in unburdened clouds that rain and sings a melody watching the orchestra of silence with all its boisterous intonations.
Looking at the burning pages of my life and reading between the lines in a moonlight sonata offering its silver sliver playing on the shiver of my spine.
My eyelashes paint my silhouettes on the canvas simultaneously blinking every millisecond of my life never to dry until death.
And I am still left with a questionable life that spins in squares and not with the comfort in the circle of life and now I take a bow.
Photo by Clay Banks
An empty prayer
I sang for my life on the edge of sorrow when I told you I loved you not knowing I would lose
you.
The stars wept into an endless ocean.
I hold this grief in my heart which sheds memories on my journey of loss.
You left me and I prayed for your return which was an empty prayer to be fulfilled.
I sealed the envelope of my fate signed with the thorns of the universe and of a blood moon. As the day
winks exposing the twinkles your life will always be written on my soul
Echoes of life
I know the drum well and it is a drum that will never be silenced.
And, I will always embroil myself in the flame of grief making life better for myself.
To make the drum beat a little softer on my path.
The searching soul unties my hands with the light tied down to my core.
It will help me carry the fire within my heart.
I will wipe my brow with my pride and pry the thumbs of an unrelenting society.
The candle burns into a deep void and the incense of life wafts of sadness.
I wipe the words, “It should never be this way,” and they fall carelessly away to the ground.
A renewal took place in the darkness.
A spark was seen.
And death is life.
Yes, life is death.
Viltoria Pexel.com
Whispers to the sun and clouds
You made me feel like I was your king but treated me like a peasant. I want to see the sunrise in your heart.
Don’t tear me apart. Please don’t blow in your dark clouds into mine. And your thunder loud as the teeth you
make rattle. I let go of you in my pain and I surrendered you to the ether. And esoteric moment to let you grow
to feel without numbing you impaling yourself on the thorns of life. So much love danced into our lives, and I
was dressed in your shadow cloaked in the dark for you not to see. You gave me your dark and I gave you, my
light. I want you to feel my ache and I want you to hear your words from the other side tipping out of your
mouth out loud on the pages of life’s existence. Great things happen in our heads. I did see you trying to wrap
me in your clothing that will see me in your doom I have created. Your dry tears was the tall tale not to open
the door of devotedness. I feel your suffering like a tidal wave gone mad. The dance of anger you pirouette to
is a toxic recipe that lacks Source to bring you to the surface. You are afraid of your own menacing cloud. You
bit into my shadow and tasted yourself while the night bled. Sometimes it hurts to laugh and how do your read
someone you love which blinds you with feelings of drunkenness of being. I want to thank you for imbibing me
with the three spiritual gifts that awaken me on my spiritual journey to do an evolution thereof. No money in
the world can buy these gifts and how you saved me. Thank you for whispering to my sun and cloud in whispers.
Seeing the whisper 